


Forever & Always, My Baby You'll Be

by windsthatwhisper



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 02:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsthatwhisper/pseuds/windsthatwhisper
Summary: Jonny and Pat's life is a cycle of curse words, late night feedings, and five minute handjobs in the hallway closet.Aka, I wanted some 1988 w/ a baby feels so I wrote this blurb of a thing in about seven minutes.





	Forever & Always, My Baby You'll Be

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh i didn't know where I was going with this when I wrote it. But I wrote it. So here we are.

Jonny's twenty-two when he learns he’s pregnant. 

It's October, and it's cold out, so it's easy to hide the swelling of his stomach that's already growing, with sweaters and big jackets until he finds a way to tell his husband. The doctor told him he conceived around September. 

Pat's ecstatic when he learns. Jonny decides to just tell him, nothing big or exciting, hands over the pregnancy test and ultrasound picture. 

Patrick cries, because he's a sap.

The following months is a rollercoaster of shopping and building and constant calls from Donna and André about how they're doing and everything they're doing wrong.

Jonny actually can't thank them enough for making sure that the crib won't collapse in the middle of the night.

Again.

They end up flying down a week before Jonny's due date and plan to stay for a week after. 

Jonny has the baby mid June.

It's warm in Chicago, but Jonny's begging to open the hospital room windows because it's  _ too hot  _ inside the room, and the nurses won't crank the A/C because the system units are not individual, apparently, they're all hooked together. 

By six in the evening, Jonny's curled himself up at the side of the bed, bars down, arms wrapped tightly around Patrick's middle. Patrick’s hands are in his hair, on his shoulder, trying to coach his husband through the contractions.

Visiting hours end around eight, so their parents have to leave. 

“Don't go,” Jonny cries, reaching for his mother,  _ “S'il vous plaît, Maman, ne pars pas.” _

“Oh,  _ mon cher,”  _ she coos, squeezing his hand, “You'll be alright, I promise. You're such a strong boy. We'll see you tomorrow morning,  _ oui?  _ Patrick will take care of you.”

Donna kisses both their foreheads before she follows André out the door.

Jonny has the baby at one in the morning. It's thirty minutes of crying and shouting threats -- Patrick is almost positive Jonny's dislocated three of his fingers -- but they end up with a squirming little baby boy, so everyone's forgiven.

Patrick's texting his and Jonny's parents when they bring their son back from being weighed and printed and all that. He's nice and clean now, free of blood and gook, and his skin is tan, just like Jonny's.

 

The nurse hands the baby to Jonny first, and Jonny’s eyes fill with tears when he looks down at their son for the second time. 

“Woah,” he breathes, “He looks a lot different when he's not covered in blood.”

Patrick laughs, watery and weak, and nods. “He’s so beautiful.” 

Their baby squirms a little in the white blanket he's wrapped in. His fists flail around in the air, eyes squeezed shut, and Pat reaches out to take one of his hands in his own.

His little fingers immediately wrap around Pat's pinkie finger. “Oh,” he whispers, “Wow.”

▪ ▪ ▪

“Y'know,” Jonny says, eyes hooded with sleep, baby on his shoulder trying to calm him, “You could help.”

Patrick groans, rolling over to face his husband. He peers into the darkness and flinches when Jonny flicks the bedside lamp on. “Th'fuck ‘m I supposed to do?”

In his arms, Ashton lets out a mewl, trying to nuzzle against Jonny’s neck, gumming at his skin.

“Go make a bottle,” Jonny demands, “He’s hungry.”

“How d'you know that?” Patrick grumbles, but sits up anyway. 

Jonny looks at him unimpressed. “He’s trying to suck the water out of my body through my skin, Patrick.”

Patrick grimaces. “Okay, point.” 

The first time he ever made a bottle, it took him nearly twenty minutes to figure out what to do and how to work the heater. But he barely thinks about what he's doing now. It's only been four months, but he’s got it down pat.

Patrick trudges back down the hall, shuffling tiredly back into the bedroom. Jonny's leaning against the headboard, body slouched in exhaustion. But he’s smiling down at their son, and while it was a tired one, it was genuine, content. 

He walks to the edge of the bed, shoves the bottle into Jon's outstretched hand, and clambers into bed next to him. He lays by Jonny's side, head on the pillow by Jonny's hip, hand coming up to rest on top of Jonny's thigh.

Patrick hates getting up at three a.m. to change diapers, hates not being able to go out with his friends as often, hates having to put off napping until he’s off work and Ashton's asleep. 

But it's all worth it, for this moment, right here. 

Laying next to his husband, who’s cradling their son like the world might come to an end if he doesn't -- which it  _ might  _ \-- little slurping sounds coming from their baby, the whole scene soft and fragile and so so precious.

“Hey,” Pat whispers, thumb rubbing circles on Jonny's thigh, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Jonny says without question, earnest. 

Patrick smiles, a warm feeling floating through his body, down to his toes. “‘Timessit?”

“A little after two,” Jonny responds, head shooting back to Ashton when he lets out a cry because the bottle dislodged, “Shh, you're okay.”

“Can't wait ‘till Thanksgiving break,” Patrick grumbles into the side of Jonny's left buttcheek, “We get a whole four days off. I still think we should go to Disney.”

“Patrick, he’s  _ four months old.”  _

“He'd be five months by then.” He says, like it matters. 

“I don't know,” Jonny frowns, “I still think we should wait until he’s older; when he can actually remember the trip, and so we don't have to drive down to Florida with an infant in the backseat.”

Patrick hums. “S'alright. We can talk about it later.”

Jonny snorts, because clearly that's code for  _ I'm not letting this subject go,  _ because he's more of a child than their actual child. 

Ashton squirms, kicking his legs in a sudden burst of excitement. Patrick sits up more, leans against the headboard and tugs Jonny down to lean into his chest. 

Jonny shifts into a more comfortable position. Usually, when Ashton's done with his bottle, he’s ten seconds away from passing out, if not already. But tonight, he’s wide awake, and Patrick’s thanking every deity that's out there that tomorrow is Saturday and neither of them have work.

Jonny hands the empty bottle to Patrick, who puts it behind him on the bedside table. Jonny maneuvers Ashton against his shoulder, pats his back until he burps.

Ashton grins toothlessly and snuggles up against Jonny, itty bitty fists balling up Jonny's nightshirt. 

Pat leans over to press his lips against the top of Ashton's soft head. His hair’s dark brown, just like Jonny’s. Patrick can't wait to see what he's going to look like growing up. He wraps arms underneath Jonny's that held their baby against him. 

There’s still a bit of pudge of baby fat from when Jonny carried. He's been working out every opportunity he gets since the doctor told him it was safe. Most of it is disappearing, but it's still a work in progress. 

Ashton's dressed in a soft one piece outfit, without feet, a pale yellow color with a cute baby bear stitched in the chest area. Patrick moves his hand up to grab his little socked foot.

Ashton squeals, and Pat’s heart melts.

Jonny lets out a quiet rumble, eyes closed, leaning against Pat's chest. 

“Go to sleep, baby,” Patrick whispers, leaning his forehead against the upper side of Jonny's head, “I can put him in his crib.”

Jonny hums in response, and Pat knows he’s going to be out in seconds. 


End file.
